


Chameleon

by Lennelle



Series: Sam-centric Reader's Prompts [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mutants, Gen, Loss of Limbs, Mutant Powers, Mutant Sam Winchester, Pre-Series, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective John Winchester, Temporary Character Death, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 21:34:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8261125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lennelle/pseuds/Lennelle
Summary: To a hunter, what is the difference between a mutant and a monster?





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written to fill a prompt. The prompter asked for mutant!Sam. If you are unsure what I mean by mutant, these are like the mutants from the X Men series, although no X Men characters appear in this story.  
> The world is the same: monsters exist, the Winchesters are hunters, the YED still killed Mary and fed Sam his blood. The only difference is that mutants also exist, and our Sammy is one of them.

They noticed Sam was different before the kid could even walk properly. Dean had been five years old at the time, but he could still remember the incident as clearly as if it had happened a week ago. At a year old Sammy had been curious and downright mischievous; if the kid wanted something he was damn well going to get as far as he was concerned.

John was heating up a tin of SpaghettiOs, another lonely meal to be eaten at the lonely table of a house that wasn't theirs. It had only been a few months since their mother had died, killed by some _thing_. Of course, John had suspected mutants just like the police had. Incidents like this were always linked to mutants. How else would a woman burst into flame, pinned to the ceiling?

Dean was keeping Sammy occupied, rolling plastic trucks across the carpet, making the appropriate whirring sounds. Sam's wide eyes followed in awe. He grabbed at the toy and banged it against the floor, making babbled noises with each hit. Dean had wanted to tell Sam not to, he didn't have a lot of toys, but Dean hadn't felt like talking much since their mom had died.

"Dean, bring him to the table, would you?" John called from the kitchen. Dean gently helped Sam to his feet, holding tight when the kid wobbled, little legs stepping out uncertainly. It was slow going from the living room to the kitchen; Dean had to stop now and then to keep Sammy from toppling over. Sam didn't seem bothered by his lack of balance; he just beamed a toothless grin and toddled along.

John set the hot pan on the table and bent down to pick up Sam. "Up we go, kiddo," he said as he placed Sam in the high chair. He went over to the fridge and looked around, frowning at the meagre contents and muttering distastefully about grocery shopping. Dean hopped up onto the chair opposite Sam and swung his little legs to and fro.

"Dean-o, do you want juice or milk?" John asked. He sounded tired, even at that age Dean had noticed. He nodded and held up one finger for juice, and his dad went back into the fridge. That was when a horrible scream ripped through the air, Sam was wailing like nobody's business. John jumped up and Dean nearly fell off his chair.

Sam was holding out his hand, tears streaming down his chubby pink cheeks. The hot pan was right next to him and his hand was red and blistering across his sensitive skin. John took it all in and cursed, moving the pan to the other side of the table. He picked Sam up and held him on his hip, bouncing him gently.

"Shhh Sammy," he said softly. "Let Daddy have a look, huh?"

"Dada!" Sam cried and held his burnt hand up. John took his wrist and inspected it, a frown marring his face.

"Do I take him to a doctor?" he said to himself, panicked. "God. Mary would've known what to do."

"Da," Sam sniffed. John looked back to the wounded hand and gasped. Dean got up on his knees and leaned over the table to get a look, his eyes widened.

The skin of Sam's hand was _changing_. The blistered skin was seemingly stitching itself back into place, the redness fading to the usual pink of Sam's baby soft flesh. After a short moment, there was no sign of any injury, not even a scar. John stared at it for a good long minute, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. Finally, he set Sam back into the highchair and dropped into the seat next to him. He served out the pan's contents and added some already prepared sausage and peas to his and Dean's plates. He didn't say another word for the rest of the evening, just fed Sammy his dinner and cleaned up the plates.

Dean was sent to bed early that night and he could remember his dad making a lot of calls. 

**___|___**

Missouri Mosely was a psychic, which was just a safer term for mutant, that way Miss Mosely could earn a living and keep her true identity under wraps. She opened her front door and looked the three Winchesters up and down. She smiled at Sam and Dean.

"Hello there, Sweetie," she cooed at Sam, then looked at Dean. "Come in, honey, I've just made a batch of cookies."

She turned around and didn't look back for them to follow. John nudged Dean forward and stepped in after him, not removing his hand from Dean's shoulder. He gazed around uncomfortably as he entered the living room where Missouri was setting down a tray of tea, cookies and juice.

"Don't dawdle, I'm not gonna bite," she chortled. "Take a seat, why don't you?"

John did as he was told, setting Sam on his knees, keeping Dean close to his side. Missouri smiled and offered him a cup of tea. John politely declined, earning him an unamused scowl from Missouri.

"I haven't poisoned it," she said. "It's just tea. Would you have come here at all if you didn't trust me a little?"

John swallowed and nodded, setting Sammy down on the seat beside him. The little boy proceeded to shove his fingers in his mouth and suck. John took a cup of tea and sipped tentatively.

"I know why you're wary of me, John," Missouri said, "but one of my kind didn't take your wife from you."

John froze, eyes darting up to her. He hastily put the cup down and went to pick up Sam again. Dean got to his feet, realising they were leaving. He was a bit disappointed; he'd really wanted a cookie.

"Mr, Winchester," Missouri snapped, before John could take a step. "If you listen to me, I can help you."

"How do you know about Mary?" John demanded.

Missouri smiled kindly. "I know a lot of things," she explained. "I'm telepathic and clairvoyant."

"That's your mutation?" John clarified. Missouri nodded and gestured for them to take their seats.

"I suspect you're here to understand your son's abilities," she said, looking over to Sam. John placed Sam on his knee and bounced him softly, touching his nose to the baby's fine, dark hair.

"So he is?" John asked, looking up again.

Missouri nodded and took a sip of tea. "I could tell as soon as you came in the door, honey."

"God…" John whispered. Missouri raised an eyebrow.

"He's no different than any other child," she scolded. "He's just a little special."

"It's not that," John insisted truthfully. He picked a cookie up off the tray and handed it to Dean, having noticed the way the boy had been staring at them. "I know it's hard for… people like you. I watch the news, you know, I see the protests and rallies."

Missouri's face pinched in understanding. "So long as you know that he's normal, that's the most important thing."

She gazed at Sam for a moment, then got to her feet and rounded the coffee table. She held out her arms.

"May I?" she asked. John paused before he handed Sam over. Missouri held him on her hip and swayed, smiling when Sam grinned at her.

"You're a cute little thing, aren't you?" she said. Sam giggled and reached up to feel her hair, eyes wide with wonder. "You'll be a smart one too, I can tell."

She placed a hand on the side of her head and closed her eyes. "Seems to me like he has some kind of regeneration."

"He healed a burn on his hand last night," John added.

Missouri nodded. "He's still just a baby, no doubt you'll see what else he can do as he gets older. Cell regeneration, huh?"

Sam giggled again and fingered Missouri's curls with his chubby fingers. "At least you won't have to worry about him getting hurt," she said as she handed him back.

John adjusted Sam on his lap again. "Do you have any advice?" he asked, "I'm kind of new at this, I've never met any mutants before, you know?"

"I bet you have," Missouri pointed out. "You just didn't know. We're just people like you, after all."

John nodded, smoothing down Sam's hair. He cleared his throat. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Can we talk just the two of us?" he asked. Missouri showed Sam and Dean to a small corner with a box of toys. Sam immediately started banging a toy car up and down before shoving the hood in his mouth. Dean didn't play, he watched Sam, and he listened.

"Demons?" John hissed incredulously. "You have to be joking."

"Are monsters and demons so hard to believe when your son is a mutant?"

John sighed heavily. "Mutants are… but _monsters?_ "

"I could feel it on your little boy," Missouri said in a hushed voice. "I can read minds and I could see what he's seen, even if he doesn't remember. A demon came to your home, John. It took your wife from you."

There was a long silence. "I can't believe I'm asking this," he said tiredly, "but where can I find out more about this?"

* * *

By the age of six Sam was sweet and quiet and smarter than any other kid his age. He knew he was different to other children, and he knew not to tell anyone; it was their little secret. Sam still cried if hurt himself, like any other kid, even though he knew it would heal up very soon. Sam was a mutant, sure, but he was a child more than anything.

John was out for the night, like he often was. There was a hunt; children were ending up in the hospital. Bobby said it was a Shtriga.

Dean was in charge, like usual, and he was making SpaghettiOs on the hob while Sam watched cartoons.

"Sammy!" Dean called, setting a glass of milk on the table. Sam hopped off the couch and hurried to the table, taking his seat.

"When's dad gonna get back?" he asked.

Dean grabbed the pot from the stove. "Tomorrow."

"When?"

"I don't know. He usually comes in late though."

Dean was scraping the SpaghettiOs into Sam's bowl, he didn't notice Sam had been touching the hot pan until he took his finger away and stared at it. Dean dropped the pan on the table.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, grabbing Sam's hand. The burn was already fading away.

"I dunno," Sam shrugged. "I just wanted to see it."

Sam rarely regenerated if Dean or John could help it. They couldn't risk anyone finding out; you never knew where someone stood with mutant rights.

"Well, don't," Dean said, annoyed. "Eat your SpaghettiOs."

Sam sighed. "I'm sick of scabetti-ohs," he said.

Dean growled. "Well, you're the one who wanted 'em!"

"I want Lucky Charms."

"There's no more lucky charms," Dean said quickly.

Sam frowned. "I saw the box."

"Okay, maybe there is, but there's only enough for one bowl and I haven't had any yet."

Sam gave a look which Dean could swear was a mutation; no one should be able to have that much power with one look. _Stupid Sam and his stupid puppy face_ , Dean thought as he thumped the cereal box onto the table. Sam reached inside and dug around.

"D'you want the prize?" he asked, smiling as he held out the plastic toy.

That night Dean screwed up. The shtriga attacked Sam, who woke up screaming, seemingly unaffected as it tried to suck the life out of him. The creature froze in its action, confused, pausing just long enough for John to take it out.

They packed up and left in under ten minutes. Sam sobbed for the next three hours on the road. The whole time, John kept saying, "It was just a bad dream, Sammy. Just a nightmare."

* * *

John had promised to come home for Christmas. He'd told Sam he'd be there. It was late Christmas Eve and Sam was on the couch, wrapping something.

"What is that?" Dean asked.

"A present for Dad."

"Yeah right," Dean scoffed. "Where'd you get the money? Steal it?"

"No," Sam ignored Dean's tone, "Uncle Bobby gave it to me to give to him. Said it was real special."

"What is it?" Dean asked again.

"A pony," Sam said sarcastically, not missing a beat.

Dean snorted. "Very funny," he grabbed one of their dad's magazines and dropped onto the couch, flicking through it idly.

"Dad's gonna be here, right?" Sam looked up at him hopefully.

"He'll be here."

"It's Christmas," Sam reminded him, as if he'd forgotten.

"He knows and he'll be here. Promise."

"Where is he anyway?" Sam asked, there were the beginnings of a challenge in his tone.

"Business," Dean said, not looking up from the magazine.

"What kind of business?"

"You know that. He sells stuff."

"What kind of stuff?" Sam pushed.

"Stuff."

Sam scowled. "Nobody ever tells me anything," he grumbled. Dean looked up, ready to say something comforting, and jumped. Sam startled, looking at Dean with a wide eyes.

"What?" he demanded. Dean opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"Your- your hair!" he managed to get out. Sam's hand shot up to his hair, feeling it, he scowled at Dean.

"That's not funny."

"No," Dean insisted. "Your hair is _red_."

Sam rose an eyebrow and glared at him. "Dean, that's not funny."

"I'm serious," Dean said, still staring. "Go look in the mirror."

Sam got to his feet with a huff. "If you're lying," he muttered, stomping towards the bathroom. Dean scurried after him. Sam turned on the light, looked in the mirror and yelped.

"My hair!" he exclaimed, both hands going up to his head. Dean stared too; Sam's hair had turned completely red; a deep, dark blood-red. Sam rounded on Dean and growled, "What did you do, Dean?"

"I didn't do anything, I swear!" he held up his hands. Sam watched him for a moment, then the tension drained out of his face, along with the colour of his hair which was turning back to brown.

"Look!" Dean cried. Sam turned back around and watched open mouthed as his hair changed back.

"What's happening?" Sam asked fearfully.

Dean snorted, which took Sam by surprise, he whirled around and folded his arms across his chest, annoyed.

"Sam, you have super healing powers," Dean pointed out, "but _this_ surprises you?"

Sam frowned, considering it, and then he turned back to the mirror. "D'you think I could do it when I wanted?" he asked, twisting his face is concentration. After a moment his face turned red with effort and he dropped his shoulders giving up. Dean smirked.

"We'll tell Dad about it when he comes back," he said, heading back to the couch. Sam turned off the bathroom light and followed after him. He sat on the other end of the sofa quietly.

"Is Dad a spy?" he asked suddenly, his hair forgotten in favour of their previous conversation.

"Mm-hmm. He's James Bond."

"Why do we move around so much?"

"'Cause everywhere we go, people get sick of your face."

Sam sighed impatiently. "I'm old enough, Dean. You can tell me the truth."

Dean avoided his gaze. "You don't wanna know. Believe me," he said sincerely.

Sam was quiet for a second. "Is that why we never talk about…Mom?" he asked timidly.

Dean clenched his jaw and tossed the magazine aside. He jumped to his feet and loomed over his brother. "Shut up! Don't you ever talk about Mom. Ever!" he yelled.

Sam flinched back but Dean was already marching towards the door.

"Wait, where are you going?" Sam asked worriedly.

"Out," Dean snapped, he slammed the door behind himself, leaving Sam alone. He never saw Sam's hair turn rainy grey-blue.

___|___

When Dean returned later he could swear his heart stopped for a second when Sam brought out their Dad's journal and said, "Are monsters real?"

"What? You're crazy," Dean snorted, he was desperate to keep Sam away from all of that. His life would be difficult enough, one day.

"Tell me."

Dean avoided his gaze and hesitated. "I swear," he relented, "if you tell Dad I told you any of this, I will end you."

"Promise," Sam swore.

Dean smiled and sat down, looking at their dad's journal. "Well, first thing you have to know is we have the coolest dad in the world. He's a superhero."

"Super?" Sam repeated. "Is Dad a mutant too?"

Dean laughed. "No. He's a different kind of super. Monsters are real. Dad fights them. He's fighting them right now."

Sam frowned. "Was that monster real? The one that tried to get me when I was sleeping?"

The shtriga, Dean realised. "Yeah. It was real."

"You and Dad said it wasn't. You said it was a bad dream."

"You weren't ready to know," Dean insisted.

Sam paused to think. "It could've gotten me. What if another one does?"

"Dad won't let that happen," Dean promised. Sam looked down timidly.

"Dad's book said they got mom."

Dean let out a long breath. "It's complicated, Sammy."

"Are mutants the same as monsters?"

"No," Dean was a little shocked, "Sammy, mutants are just people who are a little cooler than everyone else. Monsters are different. Trust me. You okay?"

"Yeah," Sam muttered, looking away.

"Hey, Dad's gonna be here for Christmas. Just like he always is."

Sam nodded, tears straining in his eyes. "I just wanna go to sleep, okay?" He rolled over onto his side, facing away from Dean.

"Yeah, okay."

Sam began to cry quietly. Dean didn't move. "It'll all be better when you wake up," he said, but Sam cried harder. "You'll see. Promise."

Sam's hair turned back to that rainy grey-blue.

John didn't come home, but Dean gave Sam Christmas, as best he could. In return, Sam gave him a gold pendant.

* * *

At fourteen, Sam had almost perfected his control over his abilities. They had discovered that he was capable of rapid cell regeneration and manipulation; basically, he could control every cell in his body. He could heal wounds in under a minute, no matter how bad. He could literally customise his own appearance if he wanted to; hair colour, eye colour, skin colour, the size and shape of his facial features. Discovering each ability had been… interesting. Sam didn't have much control at first so it was difficult when he woke up the same colour as his bed sheets one morning, a powdery blue. He hadn't been able to go to school for a week. Dean had since nicknamed him 'chameleon'.

Sam liked to mess around sometimes, usually when he and John were at odds, which was why he currently had vibrant purple hair and pale blue eyes. John gripped the Impala's wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.

"You'll draw attention to yourself," John warned. "We're going to a _hunter's_ bar."

"There is such a thing as hair dye," Sam pointed out, not looking up from his book. "They won't know."

"Hunters have strong instincts," John said. "If you lose control for a second, you could turn into a freaking rainbow."

Sam looked up thoughtfully, like he was considering the idea.

"You will keep your hair one colour!" John commanded. "Or so help me…" he trailed off, muttering to himself, _it's just a faze, he'll grow out of it_.

The Roadhouse was busier than usual. They were hit with the heavy thrum of conversation as soon as they walked in the door. Some hunters looked up, giving John and Dean a respectful nod, giving Sam an odd look. Ellen was behind the bar, she smiled when she saw them.

"Didn't think I'd see your back here so soon," she drawled. "How long has it been? A year?"

John smiled tiredly. "Good to see you too. Is Ash around?"

"Where he usually is," she answered, gesturing over her shoulder. John nodded and headed in that direction. Ellen set two bottles of Cola in front of Sam and Dean as they took their seats at the bar.

"Changed it again, huh?" she commented, looking at Sam's hair. "What did your Daddy say when you did that?"

"The usual," Sam said, and took a sip of his drink. Ellen was still looking at him.

"You wearing contact lenses now, too?" she asked.

"Sure," Sam said, smiling to himself. Ellen stared a moment longer, then gave Dean a knowing look and mouthed, 'We'll talk later.'

She went back to serving customers and Sam continued reading his book.

"…She was a real tricky one," a hunter behind them was saying. "You couldn't get close, if she touched you, you'd be electrocuted."

"Some mutants can be scarier than what we usually hunt," another added. Sam froze beside him. "That's 'cause they can live among us like regular folk."

"They're just legal monsters," the first one laughed. "You reckon if people knew about Wendigos and the likes, then they'd fight for them to have human rights?"

"Nothing human about mutants. They're _mutated_ , ain't they? Ain't a werewolf a mutant too?"

"I don't reckon it'll be long before the government realises they ain't humans," a third commented. "Can you believe they let these things live among us? It's only a matter of time before they start listening to people's protests. Mutants have too much power."

"I reckon so," the first agreed. "You see, I was hunting a Chupacabra when I came across this mutant girl and I caught her shocking someone. She could _electrocute_ people just by touching. This boy was hurt pretty bad so I figured putting her down would be for the best."

"What did you use? Silver, Iron?

"Neither," the first hunter said, Dean could hear the smirk in his voice.

"How'd you do it?"

"A bullet in her brain," he said. The whole table burst out laughing. Dean looked over to Sam who was bent low over the bar, his hands in tight fists. The tips of his hair were turning red.

"Sam…" Dean tried to put a hand on his shoulder but Sam was already out of his seat, dashing for the bathroom. Dean hurried after him, ignoring Ellen's concerned looks.

In the bathroom, Sam was leaning over sink, shoulders shaking.

"Sam, they don't know, okay?" he said. Sam looked up into the mirror and Dean saw that his hair was dark red, his skin was almost white, as were his irises.

"I can't get it under control," he sobbed, tears slipping down his cheeks. "I can't let anyone see me like this, they'll know."

"You need to calm down," Dean said, patting Sam's shoulder.

"They just killed her, Dean," Sam said miserably, "because of what she was. What if she didn't mean to hurt that boy? What if she was defending herself?"

"I don't know what happened, Sam," Dean said gently.

"Do you think they'd have killed her even if she hadn't hurt anyone?"

Dean frowned sadly. "No one's going to hurt you," he promised. "I won't let them."

Sam hid in Ellen's bedroom for the rest of the day, until the bar closed. He wrapped himself in her blanket and refused to let anyone look at him. He emerged again when John, Dean, Ash, Ellen and Jo were already eating dinner.

"You feeling better, honey?" Ellen asked, getting up to grab him a plate. "Dean said you felt sick."

Sam nodded. His hair was purple again, although Dean noticed it was duller than before.

"Thanks for letting me use your bedroom, Ellen," Sam said. He took the plate and sat down next to Dean, picking up his fork to push mashed potatoes around his plate.

"Are you a mutant?" Jo asked suddenly. The room went silent and Sam's fork dropped with a clatter.

"What?" he looked like a deer caught in headlights, his hair dulled down a little.

"Jo!" Ellen snapped. Jo flushed pink

"Sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to upset you. I was just wondering."

"We wouldn't care if you were, sweetie," Ellen added. It was clear in her voice that she knew. Dean knew that she'd figured it out; she'd talked to him about it when Sam was hiding. He'd been waiting to tell Sam in private.

"I-I'm not…" he stuttered, but his body betrayed him, as it usually did when he felt emotional, and his hair turned canary yellow. Jo squawked, Ash and Ellen gasped. Sam clutched at his hair instinctively, trying to cover it up.

"Don't," Jo said. "I think it's pretty."

Sam flushed pink, as did his hair and eyes; a bright shade of magenta. Jo giggled and Ash moaned about how he wished he could change the colour of his mullet at will. Sam relaxed and kept his hair pink for two weeks.

* * *

There was a hunt for a black dog in Iowa and Sam was nearly sixteen. They were in a forest, as they were too often, and Sam's hair matched the colour of the forest leaves. His eyes were dirt brown.

They had a plan, one they'd gone over many times. Still, things can always go wrong, no matter how well you prepare. The beast didn't show up where they'd suspected it would. It turned out to be smarter than they thought, lurking in the bushes and watching them.

For some reason, it had its sights set on Sam.

There was no warning, the dog leaped out of the bushes and landed on Sam, biting hard into his shoulder. Sam cried out, hitting it in the nose with the handle of his knife. It backed off for a moment, shaking its head, then went back at him. It clamped its teeth on one of his legs and dragged him.

Sam screamed and there was a sickening crack, and another, and then the sound of tearing flesh. John had managed to shoot the monster and it yelped, stumbling back before it fell to the ground with two more shots.

Dean was already running to Sam. He nearly gagged at the sight of him.

Sam's shoulder was completely blood-stained, but his legs… one was twisted at a sickening angle, sharp bone protruding through the skin. The other leg was still in the dog's mouth, several metres away, and certainly not attached to Sam anymore.

Sam was panting, eyes closed tight with pain.

"Oh God," Dean choked. "This is… we should take you to a hospital."

"You can't!" Sam snapped, voice cutting off with a hiss of pain. "I'll heal."

"Can you heal this?" John asked, he was at Sam's other side, pale faced.

"I-I think," Sam peeked an eye open and looked down on his legs. He began to hyperventilate. "Fuck! I-I'm not so s-sure now."

"We need to get you out of here," Dean said.

John shook his head. "We can't move him."

"W-wait," Sam interrupted. "Let-let me…"

He leaned forward and ghosted his hands over the broken leg. He took a deep breath and grabbed it; he held the scream at the back of his throat. Sam yanked the bone back into place but he wasn't able to keep his scream in. Dean grabbed his shoulders to steady him.

They watched at the bone seemed to shift under the skin, and then the skin began to knit itself together.

"That's-that's a bit better," Sam muttered tiredly, letting himself lean onto Dean.

"What about the other leg?" Dean asked fearfully.

"I'll worry 'bout it in a minute," Sam mumbled into his shoulder. Dean could feel hot tears soaking his shirt.

"Wait," John spoke up. "Look!"

Dean reluctantly looked down at the stump where Sam's leg used to be. There was white bone protruding from the wound that hadn't been there before.

"No way," Dean gasped, amazed. Sam shifted against him.

"What is it?" he asked wearily, his voice was raspy from crying.

"Dude, I think you're growing a new leg."

"Huh?" Sam's voice slurred and he tried to sit up, he didn't make it far before his eyes rolled up in his head and he fell back. Dean caught him and lowered him to the ground.

"I'll burn the black dog," John said, getting to his feet. He went over to the beast and nudged it with his foot, the thing didn't move. He bent down and pried Sam's leg from its jaws. He turned to Dean and held it up.

"He won't be needing this, will he?" he asked, genuinely unsure. Dean gave him a look and John sighed. "I mean, he can't reattach it, can he?"

Dean looked down to Sam's stump. Where the leg had ended just below the knee earlier, it was now reaching midway down his shin.

"I think he's managing," he called back. They burned the black dog and carried Sam back to the car. He was deathly pale, even his hair, and he didn't rouse for another two hours when he had a brand new leg. He sat up in bed and stared down at it.

"Did you know starfish can regrow their legs?" he said, voice still raw-sounding from the impressive amount of screaming he'd done earlier. He lifted up his leg and wriggled his brand new toes, a grin spreading across his face.

* * *

In the months before Sam turned eighteen he was becoming restless and visibly uncomfortable in the hunting community. They were meeting up with a hunter named Gordon to take on a group of shape shifters in New York.

"Have you even met this guy?" Sam asked, tapping his foot impatiently on the subway cart floor. They'd locked the Impala and their dad's truck up in a garage earlier that day, which only seemed to make Sam even more nervous. His hair was cobalt blue and streaked with silver, his eyes were mismatched blue and brown.

"I've talked to him on the phone," John answered. "He's a hunter, Sam, and he just wants help on this job."

"To kill things that can look like anything they want," Sam hissed, keeping his voice down so the other passengers wouldn't hear. "Doesn't that sound familiar?"

John sighed. "Sammy, we've been over this."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam mumbled. "I'm human. Whatever."

They didn't talk much until the train came to a stop and John led them both onto the platform. There was a man waiting for them, who Dean assumed was Gordon. He was big and dark and didn't look like he was one for jokes.

"John Winchester," he greeted, shaking his hand firmly. "Thanks for coming out to give me a hand with this one."

"We were in the area," John said flatly, clearly not liking the man much already. He took a step back. "These are my boys; Sam and Dean."

Dean noticed the way his father kept a firm hand on Sam's shoulder. Gordon was already eyeing Sam up, as most people did when they saw his vibrant hair. Dean stepped forward and shook his hand, turning his attention from his brother.

Gordon quickly looked back to Sam. "Interesting… colours."

"He dyes his hair a lot," John explained hastily.

"I've never see eyes like that," Gordon said, ignoring him.

"It's a mutation," Sam said. John gripped his shoulder harder and Dean glared at him. Sam smirked. "It's called heterochromia. Like ginger hair or double eyelashes. What did you think I meant?"

Dean shook his head irritably. Sam's mouth had no filter.

___|___

Shifters tended to inhabit dark, underground places. In this case it was the subway tunnels, much to Dean's dislike; he hated rats. Sam didn't seem bothered by any of it, he strolled along the tracks with them, not even bothering to use his flashlight.

"How can you even see?" Dean whispered to him. Sam turned to him, his eyes flashing in the dark; yellow with black slits like a cat. He winked at him. Dean punched him in the arm.

"Ow!" Sam hissed.

"Are you stupid?" Dean demanded quietly. "What if Gordon sees?"

Sam groaned and turned on his flashlight, his eyes turning blue and brown again.

It turned out a group of shifters consisted of three; which was unusual since they tended to live on their own. They took the first one down by chance; she was in the shape of a girl around Sam's age with red hair. She had been walking along with a jug of water when Gordon jumped her, stabbing her in the heart with a silver knife. He dropped her body beside the tracks, her red curls fanned out, eyes empty.

"Red hair," Gordon pointed out. "That's a mutation, right?"

Sam gulped and nodded.

The others appeared from seemingly nowhere and came at them quickly. Dean was shoved into a wall, the shifter turning to Sam instead. Sam let it grab him and he allowed his hair turn the same colour as the dead girl shifter's. The shifter holding him let go and stumbled back.

Dean clearly saw Sam mouth 'Run!' before the shifter took off down the tunnel. Sam turned back around and froze, Dean followed his gaze. John and Gordon had killed the other two but now Gordon's gun was trained on Sam.

"You're one of them," he said. Dean got to his feet slowly and held up his hands.

"Let's not do something we'll regret."

Gordon smirked at Sam. "I knew something was up with you."

"Right back at you," Sam replied, but his voice shook a little.

"Shifter!" Gordon spat.

"I'm not," Sam insisted. "Silver doesn't affect me. I'm human."

Gordon tossed the silver knife to Sam. "Prove it. Or I shoot."

Sam bent to retrieve the knife and held it in his hand. "See? It doesn't burn me."

Gordon snorted. "Make a cut, then I might believe you."

Sam looked nervously from John to Dean. Dean shook his head; if Sam made a cut then Gordon would see it heal up. If he didn't then Gordon would shoot him and they had no idea if Sam would be able to heal from that. Sam took a deep breath and made a slice on his arm. It began to heal up straight away.

"What the hell are you?" Gordon demanded. "A mutant?"

"Yes," Sam answered truthfully. "I was born like this. I'm human. I've never hurt anybody."

"You let that shifter go," Gordon said, then was quiet for a moment. "That's enough for me."

The bang echoed throughout the tunnels. Dean couldn't tell where it had come from. There was another one. Two bodies fell to the floor. He looked up quickly; John had his gun pointed where Gordon had been standing, the man was on the ground now, eyes dull.

Sam was lying a few feet away; his eyes were half-open, his chest was still and there was a bullet wound in the centre of his forehead, a trail of blood making its way down his still face. Dean cried out and ran over to him, falling to his knees at his side. John was right beside him and between the two of them they cradled him on their laps.

"No, no, no," Dean muttered frantically. "Sammy, you just need to heal this. Come on!"

"Dean…"

"No!" Dean yelled. "If he can regrow a leg then he can heal _this!"_

"Dean, I'm so sorry," John cut off with a choke.

"No…" Dean whispered hopelessly.

They carried him back to the empty subway platform and laid him down on John's jacket. Dean leaned over and closed his eyes. They sat like that for a few minutes, unsure what to do.

"Dean…"

"No, I can't - "

"Dean, look!"

Dean did. There was metal pushing back up through the hole it had entered, it fell to the floor with a soft clang, then the wound began to heal back up; first the soft tissue of Sam's brain was filling the hole, then a new layer of skull, then the skin. Sam shot up with a heavy gasp, eyes wide and watering. Dean caught his shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug, gripping him so hard like he'd never let go.

Sam took a few gulping breaths then said, "I don't think I want to do this anymore."

* * *

When Jess died Sam's hair turned grey. He couldn't change it no matter how hard he tried.

Then the visions came and Dean was certain they weren't a part of the mutation.


End file.
